


Break a leg

by Teddydripps



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Death, Animal Dissection, Blood, Burning, Gen, Headcanons Everywhere, Starving, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Wilson gets to lay and think about his life, Wilson has the worst luck, but mostly blood, cursing, literally a life story, meteor shower, there at the wrong time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 03:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teddydripps/pseuds/Teddydripps
Summary: Well, Maxwell did tell him to break a leg once





	Break a leg

Fuck. fuck fuck _fuck fuck_..

Wilson hissed loudly, the giant rocks that had been rained from the sky crushed his right leg with such force that Wilson couldn't move. Could't wriggle away in hopes to crawl back to camp and the others. Not that he thought he'd survive that either, he could feel the blood draining from his obliterated leg, which also happened to burn from the rocks heat, when it was hot.

_Fuck me, fuck my luck, fuck this world.._

He continued his angry cursing on everything and lay there. He had already tried pulling his leg out, or screaming for help. Neither did any good, as camp was much too far from the desert. Not to mention he doomed himself by not telling the group where he was heading out, or what he'd be doing. He doomed himself by coming to study Dragonfly, doomed himself by not running fast enough. Doomed it all, and now he was going to die like this.

So here he lay, either to die from blood loss, starvation, or something else that involved his leg. He could tell his leg was crumpled, probably had so much blood and bones on the outside rather than the inside, given he couldn't feel most of his leg. It still hurt though, what he could feel, his body was panicking. All he could do is lay and hope with everything that something happened and he'd be saved. Though part of him dreaded being saved, his leg. He'd be disabled greatly. Ugh, he didn't want either to happen, death or being disabled, but mostly death. So here he lay, laying still, laying quiet, his bag just ahead of him from when he dropped it. There was probably a berry or two in there.

He began to hide in his mind, resting his head to the dirt and closing his eyes. He thought about everything, his time here, his friends, his not-friends, even began thinking about home. He frowned, _home_. Oh how he wanted to go home right now, crawl up stairs and do science, be in warm bedding and sheets, anything but where he was now.

Now he began to think of his life before the cabin, his family, what friends he had back then. It all came back in a wave, and Wilson found himself deep in his thoughts, reliving the parts he remembered most.

"Wilson, what are you doing?!"

The voice was shrill behind him, startling him almost to cutting himself with the small knife he took from kitchen. He looked back innocently from the animal he had cut open to examine to stare at his mother, who was pale and horrified at the sight.

The moment happened quickly, she ran inside and got father to come get Wilson, taking the knife and setting it on the ground beside the butchered animal, and carrying the small boy inside. Mother stood there, arms crossed and praying. Wilson clung to his father, already dreading what trouble he had gotten himself into. He couldn't help it though, he was so interested in how the insides of an animal worked, and his school didn't have things like that. He had taken the knife when mother wasn't looking and told her he was going out to play. That's when he went hunting for a small creature to dissect, finding a rabbit.

He trembled when father set him in the counter in the bathing room, getting him ready to wash all the blood off."I-i'm sorry,Papa.." He muttered over and over again, father didn't answer though. After getting undressed, Wilson was placed in a warm bath, and was washed. Mother wouldn't want to talk to a bloodied son, only fueled the boy's fear more.

Once dressed in night clothes, father left to go to his study, leaving the boy in the bathing room to move for himself. He knew what came next, mother would be waiting for him. She would be furious. He didn't move, not that he didn't want to, that he couldn't. He was afraid, mother was always mean. Of course he knew he deserved it this time, but his mind was still frozen, along with his body.

"Wilson!"

And there it was, mother was expecting him, as always. He moved slowly, knowing better than to make her call twice. His feet didn't leave the floor, as he sorta slid into the kitchen when mother stood, her arms folded and her face twisting in disgust when her son entered. Wilson didn't see that though, his face was down turned, his eyes watering. Once her feet came into view, he stopped and didn't move,"Y-yes mama?"

"Don't call me that, I'm not your mother." She spat, she had told Wilson again and again that she wasn't his mother, and that he shouldn't call her mom, mama, mother, anything of the sort.

She was in fact his birth mother.

Wilson belonged to a family of 5,his mother,father,2 older brothers, then him. His mother had two sons already before marrying his father, and after they were married, they together had Wilson. What a mistake that was...

The boy was far different from his older siblings, whom had bright hair and dark eyes like both their parents. But Wilson, the poor boy, was born and given raven hair, and golden eyes. Not only that but his hair grew differently, arching into a twisted "W".

His father was a religious man, but nothing could be more religious than his strict and spiteful mother. She wasn't a kind woman, and had every male in the house trained except for the black sheep of the family. Wilson was more interested in exploring _how_ things worked instead of _why_. Even after his mother did everything in her power to remove all his gifted science equipment and books, anything that would distract him at all, Wilson still fought against her.

Then the woman began to believe. She believe that Wilson wasn't human, or that he was possessed, or that he was Satan's son. Father took her superstitions as rubbish and just thought the boy had a different mind than the rest of the family, but that didn't even slow down her outcries against her son.

One day, she came home with crosses and rosaries, placing each cross above each person's door, and handing a rosary to each person. When she came around to Wilson, she'd put him in his room, demand he pray until she said to stop, and she'd lock the room and leave. Wilson would sit, looking at a larger cross of jesus that sat beside his bed. He wouldn't lie that the cross scared him, and he kept praying.

Many times did he hear mother and father arguing about him, mother insisting they send him away to a different family, or an orphanage. She would cry and scream about how she should have aborted him, rather than giving birth to a son who was born too far from god. Father would hush her, telling her that they wouldn't have known in the first place that he would be like this. He told her that they weren't getting rid of Wilson either.

Wilson kinda wished they would've.

"Wilson Percival!"

The holler jolted little Wilson back to reality, and he made the mistake of looking up. Mother had the ugliest expression pointed at him, one that was all disgust,anger, and fear. She stared down at him with narrow,ice blue eyes, her red lips tight in a scowl.

"Do you know what you've done?"

Wilson didn't answer and only stared back, tears breaking and streaming down his face. His mother continued,"Do you know what you did to that animal? To that animals family?" her voice was quiet, low, even scarier than when she was yelling. Wilson swallowed, his lip trembling, he shook his head. She scoffed and turned away,"Of course you wouldn't.."

With this break in eye contact, he turned his head to the floor, not willing the look up again. The quiet making matters worse, he could feel her looking at him, those hateful eyes piercing him.

"So you've gotten yourself interested in animal sacrifices?? Hurting innocent animals in the name of the devil?? Perhaps you've joined a cult under our noses."

Wilson shook his head quickly, now sobbing,"No mam-.." He stopped himself before he would get himself a slap. She stepped close to him,"Then what do you have to explain yourself? Hmm?"

He had started talking, but he was stopped when his mother grabbed his chin and lifted it to face her,"Speak to me with eye contact."

He gulped, his voice shaky under her direct stare,"I-i was curious about animal dissection..I-i wanted to see how.. how an animals works.."

She let go of his chin and rubbed her face,"Science again, is it? Haven't I told you enough that science isn't for boys of god?" She turned away again. Wilson didn't move, he wanted to, but he was frozen."I can't believe this at all...My boys are so good compared to you. They know so much better than to do God's work. They go out, do good deeds, they make friends.. _YOU_ stay at home and torture animals for fun.."

"Mama..I don't torture animals for fun-" He was shaken from his speech fast, two hands dug into his shoulders and shook him violently.

"LITTLE BOYS SHOULDN'T BE DOING THIS, WILSON! LITTLE BOYS SHOULD BE OUT PLAYING WITH STICKS AND HOOPS, NOT DEAD ANIMALS!" She let go of him, leaving him now fulling crying and wide eyed, those golden orbs fearful." Such a mistake I made, why did I let your father talk me into keeping you around?-" She gave Wilson another disgusting look,"-Told me you would get past this... _thing_! But it only got worse.."

Wilson wiped his nose on his sleeve, desperately wanting to run away. She looked at him, not bothered that he was shaking and crying."Come here-"

Wilson found himself doing as he was told, only to receive a harsh slap to the face and a shove towards the hall,"Go to your room and pray. _Pray_ that you can be fixed." Wilson took this chance without hesitation, running to his room in strangled cries.

Father, once mother was off doing something else, came into his room. Wilson had asked why they chose to keep him rather than sending him away or drowning him in the well in their backyard. Father could only shake his head, pulling Wilson close and holding him. Father was always drunk, probably so much that he didn't grasp the situation properly, but Wilson didn't care for the fake care and affection. When he's constantly tormented by his older brothers, sent to priests and exorcists on a daily basis by his mother, and being locked inside their house because he's 'too unfit for playing with other kids',this affection was all he had to cling to, and he took every moment of it like it was his last.

The memory faded into another, this one being when he was older

Wilson had been kicked from his university, in which he was attending to be a doctor. They never gave him a reason, only came to his parents home to tell him not to return, and that they had no need to teach him anymore. Mother was only more disappointed by this, his brothers far more successful and living with their own wives and children. Wilson still lived with his mother and father, far too nervous to devote his life to marriage, let alone have children. His hopes in becoming successful in the medical field and _leave_ crashed to his feet. He was stuck, his mother constantly reminding him of how worthless of a son he was.

He attempted to find jobs elsewhere, something for which he could save for, but nothing in that small town would take him. Not that they wouldn't have, but for his mother to visit after he had to tell of the things he did, she would destroy those chances. He didn't know this, didn't know until after father's death.

Wilson was in his 20s now, sitting at his father's death bed, whom held his hand. His mother stood on the other side of the bed, crying into a handkerchief, her two sons at the end, their hats to their chests. Father was smiling his usual, happy smile, telling how much he loved everyone. He turned to Wilson, and his smile grew, his thumb rubbing his son's hand.

_"I love you, Wilson."_

The words hit the young man like a train, and he began crying, holding his father's hand tightly,"I-i love you too...". His father turned to face his wife, whom leaned down to let him whisper to her. She sobbed more, covering her mouth with the cloth. The two boys at the end of the bed stood quiet, sad expressions on their face as father looked to the ceiling, quiet.

He closed his eyes, and just like that, his breathing stopped.

Everyone broke down, Wilson clinging to his father's hand, his head lowered. He didn't hear the doctors asking that everyone leave, and was startled when hands began pulling him away. He held the hand for a moment longer until he was forced to let go.

At the mercy of his mother, he wasn't allowed to attend the funeral of his beloved father, and was even told to leave the home.

" _You're a full grown adult.. You can find a new home, I don't want to be stuck with you anymore.._ "

She wouldn't have said this with father alive, he wouldn't have let her, but now that he was gone, Wilson was forced to comply with her hatred. He packed what things he could, she gave him bread, and sent him on his way. Where would he go? He didn't have many friends, most of them being from university, in which he hadn't seen in years. Didn't even know where any of them lived. No business allowed homeless a night's sleep inside. There were no shelters in this small town.

He would just walk then. Walk, and walk, and walk, _and walk_. Surely he could get away from this small town and into another, maybe find better luck. That's what he hoped, but with days by and his bread gone, his hopes dwindled. He found himself grabbing at any chance of food. If a small shop was open, he'd come in and ask for food.If no, he'd beg, and even state that he'd do some work for a meal. Some shop owners complied, while others's told him to leave. Wilson hated this. He hated being so hungry and lost and alone.

However, he did reach a new town, this one much larger than his own. He smiled, maybe he could find a job here? Maybe earn some money to stay in a room until he could buy a home. Maybe

Wilson could remember the shelter he stayed in, for homeless. He had sent letters to his mother, telling her where he was and that he was alive. He didn't expect a response back, and he never got one. Until one day..

"father's will..I'm the only one on it?..." Wilson looked at the paper between his fingers, not paying attention to the letter his mother sent with the will. His father had left his entire will to him, the outcast of the family, the satanist, the black sheep. He could already tell his mother wasn't happy when officials told her to send the will to him, he could feel her cursing. He didn't care, he traced the neat hand-writing of his father with his eyes, sitting at a bench near the post office where he usually sat when reading letters.

Father had left Wilson with a lot of money, enough to support him for a good while. Father also left him a cabin, far in the woods. Cabin? Father had a cabin? When did he ever own a cabin? It didn't matter, he'd need to get things situated so he could make it to the next part of his life. That's all that mattered.

Wilson would be nearing his mid twenties now, living alone in his cabin in the woods, doing all the science he couldn't before. Everyday he thanked father in his mind, as Wilson would be nothing without him. He never believed in many things, being a man who strayed from god and married to logic, but he always believed in spirits, and he damn well believed his father was watching over him. Wilson hadn't come up with anything groundbreaking in his work, but he didn't give up. He wanted to make his father proud, and prove to his mother that he wasn't worthless. One day, he'd show her.

However, as years went by,Wilson's determination began chipping away. Every experiment he tried failed, every attempt came to blow up, quite literally. It was then that he had started to give up, started accepting that he _was_ as useless as his mother had said years ago,worthless, _Child of Satan_.

That's when _he_ spoke. Through the small radio at Wilson's side. _He_ spoke of knowledge, success, glory.

And here's where he went, his foolish decisions to listen and do what the radio wanted, what _Maxwell_ wanted. The blood had pooled more, and the sky seemed a lot darker. Wilson probably fell asleep. He felt much weaker, so much weaker. Sleep hung on him, but he didn't return to it. He'd die. He'd fall asleep, and wouldn't wake up.

He turned his gaze to the forest in the distance, looking at the tree line. He called out for help again, his voice weaker. No use, why even bother? _He was going to die anyways, whether from blood loss, shadows, whatever._ What was the point?

He blinked. Wow, he was giving up rather quickly, but calling for help hadn't done any good for him. Pulling and trying to get his leg unstuck didn't do him any good. He looked to his bag, a thought hung. Perhaps...

_Perhaps_

No. He had already lost enough blood, severing his leg to get free would kill him quicker.

A quicker death...Quicker leave from this misery...Quicker relief..

He reached for his bag, as far as he could. It seemed so much closer than it was, and he was struggling. He stretched himself almost painfully, trying to grasp at the bag strap that lay just out of read. He could touch it with his finger, feel the material under his finger print. He couldn't reach.

_of COURSE he couldn't reach!_

__

He could _never_ be that damn lucky!

__

He let out a strained cry, balling his fists and hitting the ground beside him. His body felt colder, and his skin was paler. All he could do was sit and wait for death to kiss him goodbye. He didn't like this one bit, the death slow. He was hungry, but his bag...

__

He lay his head, looking at the sun that hung to one side in the sky. Night would come soon, and Wilson would probably be dead by then. The bleeding was slow, but he was bleeding. He'd be stuck and bleed out. Maybe Hounds would come? Maybe they'd smell his baked blood from their nest and come for him? Wouldn't matter, with his luck, that wouldn't happen.

__

Sure, he could find a touchstone, but death was death. Death was painful, death was cold. Each time Wilson died, and revived, a piece of him remained dead. Sometimes he wished he'd just stay dead, stay dead so he could be with father instead of starving and fighting to survive, but natural instinct told him to live. No matter how many times he died, he still found himself fearing death, even when he didn't want to be afraid. _Shouldn't_ be afraid.

__

He closed his eyes, now feeling too weak to stay awake at this point. He was ready, ready to embrace death for it's dance. He wanted this to be over, being pinned between a boulder and stone dirt. It was cold, the sun on his back. His aged golden orbs appeared again to gaze around, breathing in small breaths. He sighed, looking at his hand that lay beside his head. Wow, his skin was white now. He knew he was ale, very pale, but this was complete colorless. So was he bleeding more than he thought? He wouldn't know, maybe his reaching for the bag caused something to open? It didn't matter, he accepted what came to him.

__

He waited longer, until he noticed that his vision was wavering heavily. He closed his eyes again. Something called for him, he wasn't sure it was real at first until he looked around for it. Off in the distance he could see something move, couldn't make out what it was with his depleting vision, but he saw it. It called again, and he wheeze out a whisper in response.

__

" _I'm here.._

__

He didn't expect anything to happen for him, not with his luck, but to his surprise he could see the thing running closer, it calling more directly to him. He couldn't tell who it was, couldn't understand the voice anymore. His head swam, and he felt light weighted. He shut his eyes.

__


End file.
